


nimbus

by englishsummerrain



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Small Towns, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain
Summary: Everyone stays here for a reason. Chenle stays here for Jisung.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 32
Kudos: 143





	nimbus

**Author's Note:**

> set in [hand wave] east gangwon province, somewhere in the '00s. very vague and probably doesn't make sense. don't look too closely. imagine it's a dream.
> 
> [inspired by](https://twitter.com/iamchang_cz/status/1260859185849233408)

There’s a cold wind blowing, rolling off the East Sea and picking up speed as it barrels up the hill that represents the main street of the village. The sky is dull concrete, marked by puffs of thin clouds and a single fishing boat bobs far out on the choppy sea — the last remnants of an industry that had once given their village life. 

Chenle still remembers it. When he’d been six and his father had gotten up before dawn every morning, bringing back nets full of fish to sell at the markets, or to load up in the back of his truck and drive to the nearest town to offload to the store owners. It feels like yesterday and a lifetime away all at once. It’s late autumn right now, winter’s chill nipping at his exposed ankles, but even in the heart of the summer there’s not much bustle around town anymore. Just long hot days spent watching the tar melt, drinking on the beach and smoking cigarettes in the field — nothing to do in a village all the way at the edge of Korea, so far away from anything that could ever be interesting. 

Chenle bikes along the waterfront, only keeping up enough speed to stop his bike from falling over. There’s music in his ears and salt in his mouth and a few seagulls perched on the black rocks jutting out beside the docks turn their heads at him as he passes. A few toothless ahjussis outside the convenience store wave to him and he waves back, his smile a thin line. 

There’s nothing here anymore. It’s all gone. What’s he supposed to do when his home looks like a post-apocalyptic wasteland?

It’s cruel, but it’s the truth. There’s a single bus stop outside his house — set against a crumbling wall that hasn’t been painted in 20 years. Primary school is taught by your neighbour’s grandmother, and high school is in the next _gun_ over, a motorbike ride, or a ticket on the bus if you don’t want to get wet when it’s hammering in the mid summer (when you don’t want your fingers to freeze off when it’s snowing in February). At the top of the main road if you stand on the balcony of the two story house on the right you can see the mountains of Gangwon rising in the distance, and Chenle’s sure that if something wiped their village off the map it might take people weeks to notice. 

There’s nothing here. Nothing for him, for any of the kids he’s grown up with. Some of them are lucky — some of them are in Seoul, studying at university. But Chenle’s here. 

Chenle’s here, and — as he reaches the end of the poorly paved road that runs along the shoreline, scattered with sand and dried seaweed and driftwood blown in by the last storm — he pulls into the front yard of a house painted sky blue. There’s a bent antenna on the roof and a tarpaulin covering the car overgrown with grass and rust in the front yard, and as he knocks on the door a cat watches him from the front window, green eyes hooded, tail swishing.

There’s nothing here, but there is Jisung, pulling open the door with a wide smile and fingerprint smudges on his glasses. The one bright spot in a world of grey — like this part of his life was painted with a different palette to the others. Someone didn’t get the memo when they placed Park Jisung here. He’s a splash of colour — a brilliance. He invites Chenle in, even though he doesn’t need to.

He’s never needed to. The front door has never been locked and more than once Chenle has found himself running to Jisung’s house to seek shelter from the sudden storms that seem to come every few weeks in the late autumn. More than once he’s let himself into an empty house and pulled towels from their laundry closet to dry off his sopping hair while he waits for the kettle to boil. Jisung would come back to him seated in front of the old oil heater with rain water dripping all over the hardwood floor and he’d just smile and sit down next to him, picking up their last conversation with the ease that one might pick up a bookmarked novel — flipping through the dog eared pages to find the right place to spring off again.

The kettle’s on the stove, and Jisung pours Chenle a cup of tea and finishes off making himself ramen. His hair is long and shaggy and there’s sunspots on the back of his neck and his t-shirt is dotted with holes and he has a fisherman's tan from helping his father reel in the last of the autumn’s catch. Back when the sun shone and the grey rain didn’t perpetually threaten the horizon. 

The steam drifting from his bowl fogs up his glasses and he takes them off, smiling at Chenle as he slurps up a mouthful then hisses at how it’s too hot. 

“Gonna burn the roof of my mouth,” he mumbles, blowing on the clump left on the ends of his chopsticks. 

“Then you’ll be stuck with a lisp again,” Chenle says. Jisung laughs, a short puff of air.

“That was once. You don’t need to keep bringing it up.”

The wind howls outside, a long forgotten song that both of them should know the lyrics to by now. It’s the only sign of life around here these days. Everyone’s moved away. Everything’s gone away, but even after all their houses are ruin the wind will remain. Reclaiming what’s always belonged to it — this desolate coastline the rest of the world has simply forgotten.

“It was funny, though,” Chenle says. Jisung smiles, his gaze averted as he stirs at his noodles with no real aim.

“Says you.”

Here is a safe haven. Somewhere the outside world hasn’t reached. Here is where they make their food, where they used to do their homework and talk about life and daydream about the cities they saw on their TV screens. The grey rain pounds against the window and Chenle is on Jisung’s bed, gunfire that sounds like his mother’s windchimes in a hurricane spitting out of the speaker of the tiny TV. Jisung curls up in front of the heater like a cat and his hair is floppy and soft and he pouts as he tries to concentrate on whatever is going on on his Gameboy.

It’s looking to be a warmer winter than usual — the snow has capped the peaks but it won’t reach the shorefront, or the roof of their house, or the tiny terraces that make up the wall stopping the drunk kids on bikes from crashing into Jisung’s front yard. It will take its leave this year — off to holiday somewhere else, too. Something good for them, maybe. 

Or not. Chenle likes it when it snows. There’s something magic about the way it ices the shores, like layers on a cake. The way it sits on the roads and muffles all noise, crunching between his gloved fingers as he brushes the powder snow from the rusty seats and watches the sun rise over the waves. 

Jisung doesn't like the snow. He doesn't like the cold. His extremities turn blue and he gets the sniffles and somehow always ends up with damp clothes and a puppy dog frown on his face when he looks at Chenle. It doesn't stop him from joining him, but Chenle is more aware of it now. He doesn't ask Jisung to come with him. 

Still, Jisung comes.

It's like that everywhere. They know each other. Know each other's haunts, each other's rhythms. The exact route Chenle likes to ride on his bike, when he's getting restless and catches the bus to the next town over. What it means when Jisung gazes out over the waves and scrunches his nose. When it's too cold for the old heater and Chenle has to make do, crawling into his bed and letting Jisung cling to him like they're kids again. 

Again. They still are. Eighteen. Nineteen. Chenle will be twenty this year. It's all the same. They're still just kids. The spokes of an upturned bike, its wheels spinning endlessly but going nowhere.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Everything interesting that occurs here occurs in one of three places, and none of them are their homes. 

One is the dock at the end of the main road, where the fishing boats leak oil into the water and the smell of rust and brine seems to soak into your very skin. Chenle used to like throwing bait off the end and watching the eels swarm, picking them out and presenting them to Jisung like he was a cat with a bird in its mouth. He’d release them back into the sea and chase Jisung around, until he caught him and tackled him to the sand, wiping the slime all over his shirt as Jisung begged him to stop.

Now that they’re older all it’s good for is sitting with their legs hanging off the end, watching the sunlight sparkle off the waves and clinking their soju bottles together as they dream of what could have been. There's still boats moored and they swim around their hulls, ducking under and splashing each other with water when they surface. The sun is setting and the air is still warm and a few tourists who must have gotten lost are sitting on the beach as they ride the tide back to shore, seawater dripping down their naked torsos and splattering against the sand like a blood trail.

"Is there fresh fish here?" one of the tourists asks. She seems to be the eldest — small with a delicate face and wrinkles on the corners of her wide eyes. Her sandals are designer and her speech comes with a heavy Busan accent.

"Yes," Jisung says. "Just ask at the store." 

"Do you boys fish?" 

"Sometimes." 

They haven't fished in years. Nothing more than a few stunted crayfish caught in pots off the coast, but Chenle won't tell them that. Jisung won't either. 

  
  
  
  
  


Two is the store. It’s on the shore front, the front lot overgrown with grass that gets pulled up by the roots once a year, stoppers made of washed up logs painted shades of seafoam and rain clouds, a bench long devoid of any colour, plastic chairs and sticky ashtrays, a great chest freezer that hasn’t been operational for years. The only restaurant that isn’t a coffee shop run out of someone’s garage is joined to its side, and on festival days brightly coloured banners hang from the awnings. 

Chenle ducks through the door, the perpetual chill wafting from the coolers barely blocked by the thin jacket he’s wearing. It’s a spring night in late April, and it’s still cold outside, the breeze carried off the ocean embedded in his blood in more ways than one. He ruffles his hair and tries to bend out of the flow of the wind from it, but he largely fails, and it sticks up in one direction as he browses the candy bars and tries to pick out what to buy for Jisung with the 10,000 won note his father had stuffed into his fist before he’d left that morning.

It’s always like this: meet me at the store. Meet me at the restaurant. 

Jisung meets him in the parking lot with a loaf of milk bread burnt a little on the bottom, and as they walk back down the main street he tears the crust at the end off and lets Chenle have the first piece of the softer insides. 

Jaemin's mum is soft on him — she'll let him have the loaves that aren't quite fit to sell, will slip him kimbap and egg bread when her husband isn't paying attention (even though he knows — it's just a fun game they've played since they were kids). It's nice. Everyone is soft on Jisung — and Chenle by association. It annoys him sometimes that they barely seperate the two of them in his mind, but in cases like this he'll take it as a boon. Twice as much free food is good for the both of them.

"You hear Jaemin's got a boyfriend in Seoul now?" Jisung asks.

It's the idle gossip that fuels this town — the only thing they ever manage to talk about. It's like by invoking those who have left they can feel better about themselves. By invoking them they drag them back here, and it's like they've never left. 

"No?" Chenle says. Jisung nods, wide eyed. 

"Didn't you see his Instagram posts? He's cute." Jisung lets out a wistful sigh. "I wish that was me." 

"What, dating Jaemin?" 

It's meant to be a tease but it comes out kind of pointed, and Chenle thinks he's lucky that a breaker explodes against the shore at the moment he says it, because it replaces the bitterness with a spray of salt he can taste on the tip of his tongue. 

"God no," Jisung says. The crickets sing, and he takes a bite of the choco-pie Chenle had bought for him. They pause under the streetlamp as Jisung struggles to put the wrapper in his pocket. "I meant in Seoul," he finishes, lame.

There's an abject selfishness that possesses Chenle when it comes to Jisung's presence here. On one hand he wants nothing more than for him to escape — for him to get away from this village and shine like he always should have. On the other hand Chenle is glad that he's here with him. He doesn't know how he'd cope otherwise. 

There's chocolate smeared on the corner of Jisung's lips and he wipes it off with his thumb. "Yeah," Chenle says. "Me too."

"We could go together. One day, right? Catch the bus up. Maybe we'd never come back." 

It's wishful thinking. Chenle can't leave his father here, and Jisung wouldn't dare leave his mother — not with how her illness is progressing. He has brothers and sisters, but Jisung has always been her favourite. 

"We could make new lives," Jisung continues. "Be new people." They're continuing up the road, picking around a collapsed wall that had crumbled during the last storm. Chenle kicks a chunk of concrete and it goes spinning down the hill, sending up a cloud of dust and streaking a white line down the road.

The only light up here is spilled from porch lights and television sets in living rooms. Jisung flickers in and out of the darkness like a slide on a faulty protector and Chenle finds, for once, that he has no retort to make. Just a solemn hum, an acknowledgement of a shared daydream.

A few gulls scatter from the power lines and, to the tune of their cries, Jisung finishes his thought. "Fall in love, maybe." 

Chenle doesn't know how to answer that. He doesn’t know how to tell Jisung that he doesn't need to leave here to fall in love, so he just leaves it be.

  
  
  
  
  


Third isn't really in the village, but there's nothing else for ten kilometres in any direction, so they just claim it anyway. Chenle doesn't know if the structure built on top of the hill is from an older dynasty or an office of culture effort, but every few years someone comes to maintain it and the paint always has a fresh lick because of them. The magpies roost under the roof and Chenle collects their feathers and keeps them in his top drawer — though he doesn't really know. Some things he's just done for so long they've become routine.

The wind is harsh, though on summer nights it’s a boon — helps balance the stickiness, sea breeze fighting the heat trapped at the mountain's feet. Jisung leans against the brick and passes a cigarette to Chenle, who lights it up and returns it to him. Everyone here seems to smoke — even old man Jung with his asthma, even Yeeun who lives down the road and has had a wicked cough since she was five. It's the only way to socialise once you get old enough — one of the only things to do. Hop out onto your porch. Light the fire pit and bring out the food to make a gathering. Spill the alcohol in the dirt and spark the end of your cigarette as you tell stories of the sea. 

Chenle doesn't smoke that much. He's a social smoker, which translates to whenever he can bum one off Jisung. He can't even steal his father's packs, because his dad smokes menthols and he fucking hates them. 

Jisung doesn't like smoking either. But he still does it. Force of habit, maybe. Chenle carries the lighter and Jisung carries the pack. Together it's like they’re one functional being, two halves made whole.

When they were younger there used to be a lot more people up here. There should be other people up here right now, staring at the endless stars in the sky and the moon hanging over the ocean but apparently everyone missed the memo — even them. The sky is streaked with clouds and the moon is a slim crescent and Chenle and Jisung are alone. Alone with their thoughts and the howling winds symphony and the fact that they've exhausted the day's gossip but they still have hours together.

At least it's less stifling to be quiet. There's lights all up the hillside and where they're sitting there's a warm glow surrounding them, turning their skin gold and filling their eyes with gilt like a sunrise over the waves.

Then again, it’s never stifling to be around Jisung. They've never had any plans. Coming up the hill is no different. When they used to come as middle school students — after skipping class when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom — Chenle would hand Jisung boughs of flowers and watch him pick the petals one by one, discarding them onto the concrete until he was left with a naked stick. He'd jam it into the ground by the fence post, and when summer rolled around and the trees were long stripped of their blossoms they'd have built their own forest at their feet. A testament to time wasted.

"You destroyed so many trees for me," Jisung says. There's ash on his fingers and a spark on his tongue, like he was born to shine — if only someone would polish the grit from his skin. 

"They grew back every year. I didn't ask you to pluck the petals."

People came up here for one of two reasons. They wanted to see the town — for whatever reason — or they wanted privacy. If you were going up the hill (always just the hill — there's hundreds of hills like barrow mounds here, but only one hill anyone would actually go to) it's because it was far enough out of town that your neighbour wouldn't see you making out with the boy down the road and you wouldn't wake up to the whole village knowing the sordid details of whose tongue was in whose mouth.

Chenle has never kissed anyone, and maybe he was using the hill for the wrong purpose then. Him and Jisung both. 

"You know I can't keep my fingers still. Mum won't let me hold anything." 

"I know," Chenle says. "And it was dead anyway. I didn't mind."

"I used to make choices with that thing. You know. Loves me. Loves me not. Gonna go to Jaemin's. Gonna go to the store. So many life choices in petals." 

"Loves me not," Chenle repeats. "God, you really are a twelve year old girl." 

"Shut up," Jisung says. His cigarette is burning low and the scent of ash fills the air. He drops it to the ground and goes to stamp it out, but before Chenle can scold him he picks it back up and puts it in the tiny rubbish bin beside the bench. "You don't even need to speak," he says, as he comes back to Chenle's side. "I heard your voice in my head that time." 

Chenle smiles and bumps their shoulders together. The wind catches at the sweat on his back and sends a chill through him but the night is still so warm — still so full of potential. If the breeze stills they might go swimming, crashing through the black waves and laughing, singing songs and living in this world of their own making. 

That's the best thing about the night. You can pretend you're somewhere else — just for a while.

  
  
  
  
  


That's it. All this place is ever about is how much fun you can make from nothing. How many times can you swim before you turn to salt? How many laps can you do before you lose your mind?

Chenle hasn’t found the answer to that one yet.

Jisung helps shell the crabs with Taeyeon and in return she lets him eat for free at the restaurant. Her mum used to run it, but she drowned when Chenle was eight — a freak storm. Now it's just her and whoever chooses to help — half the village, most of the time. She'll try to pay them and they won't take it — they're still sorry for her mother's death. Twelve years later and she still carries it on her shoulders, another anchor that moors her at port. 

Chenle has noticed that. He's good at noticing things. Everyone here has some kind of anchor — something that stops them from traveling past the edge of town for too long. They always keep coming back. 

Taeyeon pays Jisung in food, and Jisung takes the takeout box (someone's old Tupperware, permanent marker remnants of a name faded on the side) and heads up the hill with it without fail. 

Some days Chenle finds he's let himself in.

(The door is always unlocked. No-one here has ever locked their doors — and there's an odd comfort in that, that every home here is somehow his home too. That he could borrow the neighbour's cutting board without anything more than a note left on the kitchen bench, even though he's been at sea for two days.)

Some days he wakes Chenle up from a mid afternoon catnap in the sun.

Today it's like this. The sun has gone down and Chenle's father is in the backyard, sitting around the fire pit with all the other men with salt and pepper beards and laughing. Chenle is seventeen. He's sitting on the couch, curled up watching the TV. South Korea is playing Germany at football — but it's a rerun. He doesn't know who won because he didn't check the paper, so it might as well be live. His father comes through for another pack of beer, and laughs when he sees Chenle all by himself.

"Funny thing for a kid who used to talk so much," he says. Chenle used to love sitting with all the dads — but as he's aged he's found it a lot less stimulating than before. Their gossip is boring and mostly they just moan — mostly they just judge his masculinity and ask him questions that make him shift uncomfortably in his seat — presumptuous things, really.

Chenle shrugs. He doesn't want to break his father's heart — doesn't want to explain to him how weird it makes him feel that they assume he wants to marry someone from here and settle down and start a family. Chenle has never wanted to do anything of the sort. His feet were made to wander. He can't tell them that. He can't tell them a lot of things.

"I guess I grew up," he says. A truth and a lie. He's still a talker, but not so much in company he doesn't enjoy. He still has no filter between his brain and his mouth, but he's learned if he never opens his mouth he can work around that.

His father goes outside at the same time Jisung arrives — one body inside traded for another. Chenle hangs his arms off the back of the couch and grins at Jisung, his smile getting wider as he sees that he’s brought food.

Jisung’s hair is windkissed and thick with salt — shaggy like he’s a great big dog. His socks are pulled up to his knees and there's a small gap between where they end and his shorts begin where the sticky summer air clings to his skin. He’s getting taller by the day, and Chenle regrets not abusing his height while he had the chance. Now Jisung is all limbs. Now he holds Chenle’s homework over his head and teases him until Chenle just tickles him to get it to drop it.

The food is still warm enough and Chenle collects chipped bowls from the drawers in the kitchen to put it and climbs up the stairs behind Jisung. The door in his room is open, mosquito screen pulled down, and Chenle turns on the TV and waits for the familiar whir of his PS2 booting up as Jisung decants the jjigae into their bowls. 

They eat like this, warm air on their backs. Sweat on their necks, sticky humidity stop it from ever properly evaporating. Jisung has always been better than Chenle at videogames, and tonight is no different — though sometimes Chenle beats him anyway, and he wonders in those moments where Jisung fumbles everything if he's letting him win.

If he is, he's sure Jisung would never admit it. He just gives him the same gummy smile every time and tells Chenle he guesses he must have got lucky.

It becomes closer to dawn that it is to dusk, and they sit on the balcony together, cracking open a car of beer between them and trying not to think about the way they’re basically swapping spit with their alternating sips. Jisung’s fingers are warm where they brush against Chenle’s, and he tries not to think too much about that too — the little sparks that go off in his mind at every unconscious touch they share. At how Jisung’s body heat is tangible even when they’re not touching each other — like Chenle has found a way to manifest the glow that surrounds him in his mind’s eye.

Jisung tells him how he had a dream where aliens landed on the store roof and tried to take all their fish, except they had no idea what to do with the fish and he’d ended up entangled in a long cooking show style montage of showing them how to gut and cook it.

"Why would an alien want fish?" Jisung asks. "It seems dumb."

"Why would an alien want to come here in the first place. Maybe they crash landed." 

"Maybe they're scared of civilization," Jisung says. 

From the balcony you can see the whole village, all the branches of driveways and roads like veins joining the artery of the main road, stretching to the heart of the village — the ocean. Out on the waves the red lights of the buoys warning stray ships of the rocks shine like demon's eyes in the inky night, and on the shore their single street lamp casts a warm yellow circle on the road — a waxy full moon amongst the asphalt sky. The houses all have their lights on and you can watch your neighbour's television through their window, or see the girl you went to high school with who your father always said you should date — see her shadow in the back yard as she throws a frisbee for the dog. 

Chenle tightens his grip on the railing and lets the wind run through his hair. It doesn't sing as loud here, but the waves still beat down and the air is still salty, as if to remind him exactly where he is. Exactly where he'll always be. At least he has Jisung. Jisung and his aliens.

If they're scared of civilization they came to the right place. 

  
  
  
  
  


So maybe there’s a fourth place. After today, maybe there’s a fourth place. Winter has receded, and the sky is a cloudless blue — pure and brilliant, mid spring sunlight turning the waves a rich shade of cerulean and the dew captured in the fists of the blossom petals to diamonds. The laundry on the line outside is limp and a chorus of birds gathers on the roof of the house opposite, wings tucked close to their bodies and their eyes on Chenle where he sits on the railing of the balcony, can of Coke in his hand, Jisung at his side.

It’s taken a lot of effort to get Jisung up here. Chenle has never been afraid of heights, but once getting Jisung to even lean on the railing was a challenge. To have him sitting beside Chenle now — to have him perched up here with his eyes closed and his face turned to the sun, not a care in the world — it’s a product of years of trust. 

The radio sings a song about young love, and Chenle hums along, mumbling half the words despite the fact he should know them by now. It’s a spring hit — a mourning of years they’ve lost. The singer is talking about high school and — though he’s not there anymore — he feels like he's walking through the halls again. Waiting outside to catch Jisung in the break between periods, when he walked the ten steps in the snow to the next classroom.

Sometimes Chenle feels like he never left. 

Sometimes he feels giddy, like his head is stuffed with sparkles. Sometimes his heart sings so loud he wonders why Jisung can’t hear it. He hears everything else Chenle thinks, some kind of weird telepathy they’ve developed from living in close proximity for so long. Why doesn’t he hear this?

Why does it even matter, anyway.

There’s no-one on the road, only a single person on the shore. Chenle’s motorbike broke last week and he doesn’t know how to fix it — he’ll have to wait for Mister Na to get back from Seoul before he can carry Jisung down the highway again, bugs splattering against the visor of his helmet and Jisung’s knuckles turning white around his waist. 

It’s okay. He doesn’t really want to go anywhere. The wanderlust still simmers, but he’ll hold onto it for now. The weather is sluggish and he feels a little free — a little wild. He takes a sip of his Coke and Jisung’s fingers brush against his — so light it could be accidental.

(The thing about this whole understanding each other — this whole intrinsic knowledge they share — is that Chenle knows it isn’t an accident.)

“Chenle,” Jisung says. The waves roar in the distance and the gulls are crying, as they always do. 

“Yeah?”

Jisung isn’t looking at him. He’s looking up towards the mountains — where the snow still lingers, the last hopes of a dying season. Jisung isn’t looking — Chenle’s looking at him. The only thing that’s ever mattered. The only thing that keeps him here — on this balcony, in the ocean, in his living room soaked in the thunderstorm’s tears. The only reason this village should even exist anymore. Scatter the rest to the four winds.

Jisung’s fingers cover his own — their hands not quite joined, just skin on skin. Chenle looks down and spreads his fingers across the iron railing, and when he looks up Jisung’s eyes are on his. The sun is high above and the wide ocean sparkles blue behind his back and Jisung is looking at him, words on the tip of his tongue. 

Words Chenle doesn’t know. 

His grip shifts, locking around Chenle’s fingers. They’ve always fit together so well. It’s no different here. 

There are four places where something interesting happens in this village — though Chenle only amends this later. He only amends it after it happens like this. Perched on the balcony, two birds on an electric wire, singing about teenage love. Two boys, a bittersweet daydream.

There’s no-one around, and Jisung kisses him.

Chenle drops the can and it explodes across the road, dribbling down the slope like lava down the edge of a volcano. He won't notice its absence for a long time.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [twitter ](https://twitter.com/dongrenle)and [cc.](https://curiouscat.me/goldhorn)


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